A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

found herself
wishing that Robb had not taken her uncle Brynden west with him. The Blackfish
was the veteran of half a hundred battles; Edmure was the veteran of one, and
that one lost.
    â€œThe plan’s a good one,” he concluded. “Lord Tytos says so, and Lord Jonos
as well. When did Blackwood and Bracken agree about
anything
that was
not certain, I ask you?”
    â€œBe that as it may.” She was suddenly weary. Perhaps she was wrong to oppose
him. Perhaps it was a splendid plan, and her misgivings only a woman’s fears.
She wished Ned were here, or her uncle Brynden, or . . . “Have
you asked Father about this?”
    â€œFather is in no state to weigh strategies. Two days ago he was making plans
for your marriage to Brandon Stark! Go see him yourself if you do not believe
me. This plan will work, Cat, you’ll see.”
    â€œI hope so, Edmure. I truly do.” She kissed him on the cheek, to let
him know she meant it, and went to find her father.
    Lord Hoster Tully was much as she had left him—abed, haggard, flesh pale
and clammy. The room smelled of sickness, a cloying odor made up in equal parts
of stale sweat and medicine. When she pulled back the drapes, her father gave a
low moan, and his eyes fluttered open. He stared at her as if he could not
comprehend who she was or what she wanted.
    â€œFather.” She kissed him. “I am returned.”
    He seemed to know her then. “You’ve come,” he whispered faintly, lips barely
moving.
    â€œYes,” she said. “Robb sent me south, but I hurried back.”
    â€œSouth . . . where . . . is the Eyrie south,
sweetling? I don’t recall . . . oh, dear heart, I was
afraid . . . have you forgiven me, child?” Tears ran down his
cheeks.
    â€œYou’ve done nothing that needs forgiveness, Father.” She stroked his limp
white hair and felt his brow. The fever still burned him from within,
despite all the maester’s potions.
    â€œIt was best,” her father whispered. “Jon’s a good man,
good . . . strong, kind . . . take care of
you . . . he will . . . and well born, listen
to me, you must, I’m your father . . . your
father . . . you’ll wed when Cat does, yes you
will . . .
”
    He thinks I’m Lysa,
Catelyn realized.
Gods be good, he talks as
if we were not married yet.
    Her father’s hands clutched at hers, fluttering like two frightened white
birds. “That stripling . . . wretched
boy . . . not

speak that name to me, your duty . . . your mother, she
would . . .” Lord Hoster cried as a spasm of pain washed over him.
“Oh, gods forgive me, forgive me,
forgive
me. My
medicine . . .”
    And then Maester Vyman was there, holding a cup to his lips. Lord Hoster sucked
at the thick white potion as eager as a babe at the breast, and Catelyn could
see peace settle over him once more. “He’ll sleep now, my lady,” the maester
said when the cup was empty. The milk of the poppy had left a thick white film
around her father’s mouth. Maester Vyman wiped it away with a sleeve.
    Catelyn could watch no more. Hoster Tully had been a strong man, and proud. It
hurt her to see him reduced to this. She went out to the terrace. The yard
below was crowded with refugees and chaotic with their noises, but beyond the
walls the rivers flowed clean and pure and endless.
Those are his rivers,
and soon he will return to them for his last voyage.
    Maester Vyman had followed her out. “My lady,” he said softly, “I cannot
keep the end at bay much longer. We ought send a rider after his brother. Ser
Brynden would wish to be here.”
    â€œYes,” Catelyn said, her voice thick with her grief.
    â€œAnd the Lady Lysa as well, perhaps?”
    â€œLysa will not come.”
    â€œIf you wrote her yourself, perhaps . . .”
    â€œI will put some words to paper, if that please you.” She wondered who Lysa’s
“wretched stripling” had been. Some young squire or hedge knight, like as
not . . . though by the vehemence with which Lord Hoster had
opposed him, he might have been a

tradesman’s son or baseborn apprentice, even a singer. Lysa had always been too
fond of singers.
I must not blame her. Jon Arryn was twenty years older
than our